Back with the morning,
white-coated greetings,

stinging questions,
drone straight at me,

then swarm past,
turmoil in their wake,

a whirlpool of noise,
muddying the air,

spinning, sucking me
into its still-centre

of thrumming silence:
and I curl myself up

in my rolled-up vacuum,
my solitary

where I hang out my days,
one by one, back turned

to the here-and-now
peeping in, rattling keys.

Still, after the pills,
a nightingale sings:

the trees have sparkles
in their hair:

wide-armed, I can
inhale the world,

roam knee-deep in darkness,
and be myself till dawn.


© Nemo 2023
Views: 3425
critique and comments welcome.
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Well done Gerald, I thought it was brilliant. It has always been the case, poetry like art, it’s beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Accept the compliment when it comes, but also accept it won’t be from everyone. You have always been a gentle sole where critique is concerned. As has been said….look at you nibs and noms, it’s all you need to know.


Loved reading this and the way it slowly revealed its meaning.Well done on the nomination.


Ah the drug induced release, you depict the cluttered mind really well and this sweetens the release once the tablets are applied. Well deserved accolade as always Gerald. Best keith
PS thanks for the PM…you got me writing again.

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